


breaking binds

by setokaibas



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, blood mention, hawkmoth is very cruel, illness mention, violence mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9650615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setokaibas/pseuds/setokaibas
Summary: originally for ml fandom week day 4: character-centric.warnings: mentions of blood, illness, and violence.not post-hawkmoth. where akumas exhibit more than just anger, and adrien lives between reality and dystopia.





	

**Author's Note:**

> adrien-centric. can be slightly graphic at some points. 
> 
> a shoutout to @siderealsandman and @ladycoccinelle on tumblr for dealing with the angst that comes with writing sadrien and giving advice. another big thanks to @ladrienintensifies on tumblr for providing constructive criticism and encouragement!
> 
> constructive and concrete criticism only, please. reviews and kudos very much appreciated; thank you for reading, and i hope your day is blessed.

Adrien doesn’t remember exactly when he’d traded black in for white.

Sure, it felt almost sinfully good- the lack of expectations, the freedom to fly around at all hours without random Parisians or tourists stopping to snap pictures of him for some obscure blog post- but the fluttering of the akuma in his silver bell did nothing to alleviate the ache that had rested in his chest since time immemorial.

He couldn’t remember so many things, his mind filled with screaming static like the first TV he’d broken in a shop window out of rage. Glass had glittered around him like the stained windows in the churches he leapt by in the morning, the resulting light twisting his blood-covered hands into something almost like a stance of prayer. The resulting stab of guilt that pulsed through his newly sprouted fangs that the akuma hissed at him to ignore still sunk low into Adrien’s gut. Nausea rolled over him as the meager breakfast he’d managed to pilfer from a trash can reemerged in a scalding heap. The keening pulse of pain that followed– and the accompanying roar of what he thought was Plagg– led him to the sweet relief of a blackout. Mercifully, slumber gave way to the sight of red which coated his white hands, and the roar inside him calmed.

The first time he remembered seeing Ladybug as he was now was through the shaking lens of a television camera days later. He remembered the roiling frustration in her eyes as she talked to the reporters; it spat and hissed like the grill behind him in the cafe just down the street from College Francois-Dupont. She had promised to bring him down weeks ago. They prodded her with their pens– was she having trouble finding Paris’ newest villain? Where was her partner Chat Noir? When would she find Adrien Agreste? How did she feel about it all?

At that question, something thin inside him snapped. The porcelain coffee cup inside his cupped hands broke (he didn’t realize he was holding it so hard, he murmured to the accompanying clench of his stomach). Chat sat stunned, pale brown coffee scalding him through the bone-white suit, only for his jealousy to root him to the vintage tile. Fists clenched over the metal arms of the chair he’d dragged over to the window to watch the street for any sight of black spots, and they parted from the base with a visceral snap. What right did they have to hear how Ladybug felt when he couldn’t even look her in the eye? Who were they to her, that she would even tell them anything, when even her beloved partner never got so much as a crumb from her precious lips? His ear flicked to the side, catching the glaring and whispers of the other patrons and the women who pulled their children just a little bit closer. The soft parts of his mind crumbled a little bit more, but with steady silver claws he gathered the broken shards and set them on the counter. A clerk came up to the register, quivering, and let out a grateful squeak when the unwittingly fierce glare Adrien gave with his “thank you for your service” was accompanied by a large bill.

(He got punished for it later, but the small victory he’d wrought over the suit was worth the lack of sleep.)

Every torturous day that followed peeled away yet other layers of Adrien’s control. Some moments he would recall his mother’s voice, melodious yet shimmering with tears. Others would be wrought with the scream of his father as Gabriel Agreste died at the hands of a wayward assassin. Consciousness of any truly operable sort was a blessing, most of his time whiled away at the beck and call of some strange voice which commanded him about the city. The wind seemed to fall out of Adrien’s lungs with more difficulty with each moment that passed, and with it his resolve to continue what quickly began to seem like a futile resistance. No matter what he did, the grasps he made at morality each day seemed ineffectual. The suit sank itself even deeper into his body, recruiting bone and muscle to its purposes. Hopelessly, the teenager watched as who he now realized was not his kwami screamed threats through unused vocal cords and razed statues with daggered claws that glinted in the moonlight.

Adrien had once heard in a literature class that characters in stories often reached revelations while staring up at the night sky. Indeed, in that moment the suit had decided to dump him on top of the local boutique, recovering from the last wave of mischief-making of which the former hero remembered little. Excruciating pain shot through his hip, leading him to shift from his back onto the side that was quiet. With difficulty, the white-clad teenager moved his right hand in front of a bruised pair of eyes to stare at it. The glove, he saw, was beginning to show signs of wear; dirt was permanently caked underneath its claws, and the palm was nearly rubbed raw.

It was then that Adrien realized that the knife was no longer hovering above him with sharp claws and a voice that whispered you’ll never be good enough for anyone; it was buried deep, deep in a heart he thought he’d made somewhat shielded over the years. Never had he been invulnerable; his speckles of pride in his alter ego had been what both saved and damned him. He could not rescue himself from this alone, because he needed help from the only person in the world who he felt knew enough of him: Ladybug. He was Chat Noir, the one everyone counted on, the one Paris needed. For the first time in what felt like years, Adrien felt a smile briefly split across his face against the punishment of the suit. The thought was cheesy beyond all recognition, but Adrien supposed even heroes needed help on occasion.

It was due to this conviction that after a few hours more of rest Adrien tottered to his feet and leapt across the rooftops that he knew would lead him to Ladybug. The instincts of his old self came rushing back; blocks upon blocks of road disappeared under his feet even as blood dripped from his various wounds. True to his feelings, blue-black ponytails soon emerged above the skyline, and with his baton he followed her to the outskirts of Paris. soon enough, the winking lights of the Eiffel Tower were but a distant memory, and Ladybug’s spots disappeared over a few more precipices before coming to a halt. He crunched down onto the gravel topping of the building lightly, only to be racked with a wave of agony and its accompanying collapse to the stinging dirt. Unfortunately, Ladybug chose the exact same moment to turn around, leaving his orange eyes to collide with her wary blue ones in a manner that seemed like war.

Every hesitant step Ladybug took towards him sent a combination of dread and happiness thrilling through Adrien’s battered shell; they were so intense that he almost missed the first words that fell from her lips: “Why are you here, and what have you done with Chat Noir?”

Catching the growl that the suit gave out and tossing it back down into his belly, the white-clad teenager rasped, “Need help. Chat Noir… I don’t know where he is. Could help you find him.” 

At this, Ladybug shifted her right hand onto the yo-yo at her side. “Why would you willingly come to me? I won’t be fooled by fake tears, Chat Blanc.”

At this, Adrien felt his control slip a little bit, and his damaged fist pounded on the ground above his head. Ladybug flinched, and Adrien cringed as his raspy voice bellowed, “Why did you never take me seriously? All I’ve ever done is protect you.” What on earth possessed him to say that? Sure, at one of his lower points (read: when he’d finally broken down in the shower, acidic pent-up tears flowing down the drain with Plagg munching obliviously away on Camembert), he would admit to perhaps fleetingly entertaining such a thought. But actually say it out loud?

The bluenette’s eyes briefly widened, then hardened back into a pensive state. Agonizing moment upon agonizing moment drug itself on, and Adrien wondered if his outburst had cost him the tenuous trust of the only person who could solve the situation. However, the churning in his stomach was nothing but a bad feeling. After a few minutes of pondering, Adrien guessed Ladybug had put a few things together. Her knuckles brought the yo-yo into her hand, and she glanced at it briefly before sending an exhausted look into his eyes. “If this is a trick..”

She walked over to his damaged body, studied his figure for a moment, and then reached for the bell around his neck. Out of the blue, Adrien’s body violently jerked towards her earrings, and Ladybug drew back quickly before silver claws could even graze the tip of her earlobe. Thankfully, however, she leaned back down and crushed the bell with her left hand. A black butterfly sputtered out of the disintegrating form, unusually weak; Ladybug was easily able to catch it with her weapon before releasing it into the air to fly slowly back to its reclusive master. 

Awkwardly, Adrien turned onto his injured side so Ladybug wouldn’t see his face. She didn’t deserve to deal with the burden that he was at that moment, and the pain of his injuries was slowly lessened thanks to the Lucky Charm (when exactly had Ladybug thrown that up in the air again?). Slowly, he glanced at his hands, relishing the sight of skin and ring instead of pale, suffocating spandex. He was finally free. Shifting to his feet, Adrien carefully kept his back turned to Ladybug, knowing she didn’t want their identities revealed. After all he had done to make her life a living hell the past few months, he could at least do that much.

However, the bluenette unexpectedly called out to his figure, and he felt a warm, small hand on the only space on his back that wasn’t scratched. “Sir, you look severely injured. My Lucky Charm will only heal so much, and I’m still looking for another missing kitty. I don’t think you would necessarily know anything about that, and I don’t want to hurt you by taking you along. Would you like me to call you an ambulance?”

Foolishly, before he even had the mental space to realize his head had turned, Adrien responded with a simple smile to the suddenly nonplussed hero. “I’m fine, Ladybug.” He realized the gravity of what he had said only a moment later, quickly whipping his head back around to pointedly stare at a nearby pigeon.

Ladybug’s hand seemed to grow heavier on his back. A small statement, almost an uncharacteristic squeak, came from the heroine’s lips. He waited with bated breath. “Adrien.. I finally found you.” Then, a noise of exasperation. “Of course it had to be you all along. You would never just abandon your father like that. He’s been worried.”

Adrien’s stomach did a surprised slow roll, but he sighed, exhaustion creeping in. All he wanted to do was find Plagg, go home, and sleep for twelve days straight. However, a small feeling against his back stopped any rational thought in his throat. Quiet breath spilled down the small of his spine, and when he looked down, two freckled arms were wrapped lightly around his bruised ribs to form a simple embrace. As he stood there for a quiet moment, Adrien’s blood rushed to his face. 

Ladybug, the heroine who had captured his heart two years before, was fulfilling a scenario he thought he would see only in his dreams. Looking down briefly to ensure her face could not see the grey-black ring on his hand, Adrien slowly turned around to embrace the small woman with similar delicacy. She felt warm and solid in his arms, the slight pain of his ribs expanding against hers a mere aid in the dissipation of the fog from his half-drained mind. Contentment slowly filled his hole-filled heart, and he pushed Ladybug’s head closer to him, watching her breath come in and out of her chest just a little bit faster when his hand grazed her. As he hesitantly rustled a finger through one of her ponytails, a swelling thought burst into his mind. 

Yes, he was never Chat Blanc; he was and would always be Adrien Agreste, a young man whose duty was to his family, the city of Paris, and to his lady. As he looked up at the sunset that now bathed them in its golden light, he realized: he could finally breathe again.


End file.
